Let Go
by energy
Summary: a dark Koushirou short. involves cutting, so be warned. not for the squeemish or faint of heart.


This is an extremely dark piece of writing, reflecting my current mood. None of the usual happy smarminess that I usually pour out. Sorry, but I don't know if I can write that just now.  
  
This is your last chance to bail on this one. It is about cutting, which I know some people can't handle or don't want to read about. I surely don't condone it, and that's all I'll say about it. If I get any complaints about this, I'm coming after you. You've been warned. Take a walk in my shoes sometime.  
  
  
  
Standing in the hallway, Koushirou listened for any noise signifying his parents were still awake, but all he heard was the rhythmic sounds of his father snoring and his mum breathing. He left the hallway and started back to his bedroom, avoiding the squeaky spots on the floor.  
  
Once in the relative safety of his bedroom he shut the door and turned the lock and winced as the click shattered the silence. He double checked the knob to be sure he was not going to be disturbed. He mentally nodded and left the door, heading for his closet and gingerly opened the metal door as slowly as possible. Behind the hanging clothes, under his rack of shoes, was a small grey plastic box. Koushirou pulled the box out and walked back to his bed. He set the box down reverently, almost as if it were priceless. In a way it was to him, it allowed him an escape from his pain, if only temporarily.  
  
Koushirou hesitated for a second or two, deciding if he still wanted to go through with it. After a deep breath and then a second one, he gently flipped the lid off, revealing a shiny razor blade, a red-stained rag, and an assortment of gauze and bandages. Koushirou set them aside and picked the razor blade up. He studied it carefully, turning it slightly back and forth and letting the glow of his desk lamp bounce off the narrow blade. The reflections mesmerized him for a moment and then he fell back into reality.  
  
Koushirou set the blade down on his bed and began taking his shirt off. Traversing the insides of his arms were a network of fine scars from about an inch above the wrists to just below the elbows. A few graced his upper arms, but they were small in number and paled in comparison to the lower arms. Koushirou studied his arms for a minute, tracing the lines. They all paralleled the major blood vessels, forming a bas relief of sorts. He placed the rag across his lap and then picked the razor up, holding it to the soft flesh of his left arm.  
  
As the tip broke the surface pain filled his mind, dulling and then drowning out the chaos and madness that lay inside. Koushirou drew the blade along, watching as ruby red blood welled up and marked his progress. From his usual starting line near the wrist he drew upward, carefully avoiding the veins and ended his path near the halfway point of his arm.  
  
Koushirou welcomed the fresh pain like a farmer welcomes rain during a drought. He felt in control again, almost fresh, if his feeling could accurately be described. He held his arm upright and watched as the blood slowly ran down his arm and pooled in the hollow of his elbow. His mind was in complete ease now, normal. All of his earlier hurts were trickling out and slowly congealing, easy to wipe away. All the day's problems no longer mattered.  
  
Koushirou transferred the blade to his other hand. After a deep breath to steady his off-hand, he methodically pulled the blade down and then across, forming a pattern of some sort. Letters. He was spelling out what is mind screamed at him. "let go", his arm said back to him in crimson. Five small letters saying what he wished he could do. Let go of everything.  
  
Satisfied with his craft, he watched as the letters blurred and ran together, now saying nothing at all. He wiped the razor clean and set it back in the box. Words cannot accurately describe the near ecstasy he felt at that moment. He wasn't tormented by anything at the moment, not his teachers, those who he used to regard as friends, no one.  
  
Koushirou waited until the blood ran thick and then pulled the rag from his lap and slowly wiped the red from his arms, staining the rag further. He pulled the gauze from the bed and laid it against his arm while he rolled narrow ribbons of bandages around his arm to hold it in place. He repeated the process on his right arm, covering the words he wished he could do. Once he was done he waited, waited to see if any red spots would rise through and potentially stain his clothes later and possibly force him to give uninvited explanations. After he was sure he wasn't going to leak Koushirou pulled his shirt back on, carefully rolling the sleeves down as far as they would go, completely covering his self- mutilations. How long had it been since he'd worn short sleeves? Koushirou pondered this question and found the answer to be quite hazy. It had been a while.  
  
Koushirou set all of his items back in the small grey box and replaced it in his hiding place in the closet. He allowed himself to feel contentment as he shut the door as slowly as he opened it. He came back to his bed and climbed in, reaching over to turn off the desk light before settling in. Koushirou inhaled deeply and let the small ache of his arms carry him off into peaceful slumber. 


End file.
